Page 94 of Catch a Wave

“No. Don’t do that. I’m going back to Cali. You need to stay the course. Don’t derail your life for me right now.”

“I want to, Bo. I can come with you. Your mom said there’s a spare room at her place. I can be there. You’d do it for me.”

She’s not wrong. I would do it for her. But that’s different. I’m a guy. My career would pick right up. She’s at a critical juncture. I can’t allow her to lose momentum now—not over me and my setback, especially because in my heart I know this isn’t temporary.

“Mavs.” Saying her nickname nearly guts me. “I need you to go ride in that contest. And dominate. Do that for us—for yourself, for all you’ve worked for so far.”

She shifts so her face is aimed up at mine, but our eyes don’t meet because I don’t tip my head down to meet her gaze.

“Okay,” she relents. “But I’ll see you after. As soon as it’s over, I’ll come to Ventura and stay with you and your mom.”

I take a deep breath. I have to tell her. Stalling will only do more damage.

“No, Mavs. You should just … maybe we need a little space. You don’t need me holding you back, and this might never get better.Imight never get better.”

There. I said it.

Her voice takes on a note of panic. “I don’t care. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me to, Bo. Don’t you realize that? You’re way more important than surfing.”

I knew she’d go there. Just as I suspected she would. She’ll give up everything she worked so hard to achieve for me, and I can’t let her.

“Don’t say things like that.” I turn my head and stare out the window, unable to bring myself to witness the evidence of our breakup etched on her face. “If you give up your life for me, I’ll only feel worse. I want you to soar. You were made for pro surfing. You are paving the way for other women in this sport. You’re living your dream. Don’t give all that up for a man who can barely get out of bed in the morning.”

“This is all fresh. You don’t know what it will be like, even tomorrow. You’ll get better, Bodhi. You will.”

A fierce determination undergirds her words. It would almost convince me if I weren’t so steeped in the color gray. I can taste hopelessness like a bland and bitter film coating everything. I won’t get better. The thoughts I have are dreary and weighted, dragging me further into myself. I muster the most lame smile for her sake.

“Go to the contest. We’ll see what’s next.”

I’m lying. We both know it. I never thought I’d lie to Mavs. I’ve always been someone who said everything he thought without pausing to filter myself. Knowing I’m deceiving her—even if it’s for her own good—nearly kills me. I thought I was as low as I could go. Apparently there are new lows to hit.

“Bodhi, don’t.” Kalaine’s voice is weak.

I’ve reduced her to begging. This is destroying me. But I would never live with myself if we both lost everything over my accident. The ocean might have taken my future and my joy. I won’t let it rob her too.

“Kalaine.” I don’t call her by my favorite nickname. I can’t associate that place with her anymore. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Nooo.” She burrows her head into my shoulder and cries.

I hold her until her sobs abate. She’s still sniffling and clinging to me as if she can reverse time through sheer willpower alone.

“Please, Mavs. I need you to do it—for me.”

The taste of her pet name on my tongue feels wrong and out of place. I’m not the Bodhi she fell for. And she won’t be my Mavs.

She curls into me and sobs some more. I let her, rubbing my hand in comforting strokes down her back. After a while her cries diminish and she lifts her head to look me in the eyes.

Hesitantly, she asks, “What do you need from me, Bo?”

I stare down at her, questioning my resolve only for a brief moment. “I need you to move on. Go to the contest and show them who the number one women’s surfer in the world is. Win that first place for me—for us. And then keep surfing. Go big. Grab it all up. I need to know I didn’t wreck you.”

“You’re wrecking me now.” She whispers the words.

“I know.” I stare out the window. I’m a coward, unable to even look at her. “But I’d wreck you more if you stayed here. Trust me. You don’t need this. It’s going to hurt at first, but you’ll move on. You have to.”

She cries some more. I hold her. No one knows me like this woman. And she knows me well enough to know the fight hasleft me. We lay there in my bed, clinging to one another, but both of us know the truth. This is our goodbye.

Maybe a half hour or an hour later, she gets up, cleans her face in the little in-room bathroom and takes a seat in the chair next to my bed. She tries to talk to me. I give her short answers, each one a snip of the invisible cord that has bound us so intricately and tightly together for the past two and a half years.

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